


Zephyr

by snapplefactoids



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Dissociation, Eating, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2020-04-06 07:56:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 4,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19058470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapplefactoids/pseuds/snapplefactoids
Summary: "Y'ever wonder what stars are? Where light comes from?" | a ventus centric drabble collection across various points in kingdom hearts canon AND non-canon, all of which will be ripped directly from my roleplay blog.





	1. Rest

Had he dozed off for a moment? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened. Surprisingly enough, Ventus’s decade spent asleep did very little to put him off from his tendency for impromptu naps.

Their trip back to Master Yen Sid’s tower only served to encourage him. For as animated as he was during the first couple of minutes of the train ride—parading down the empty aisles and pressing his palms to every window he could reach as a means of embracing the sheer novelty of the experience—the engine’s hum and his close proximity with Sora lulled his racing mind not long after he settled down at his side.

It’s only as a warm arm is draped around him that he flinches awake, gaze lifting unthinkingly.

Although he relishes in the dazzling and reassuring grin on the younger boy’s face for just a moment longer, illuminated in part by the boundless stream of cosmos that bursts into existence just outside of their cart, he doesn’t continue to wage war with his tired eyes. He only nestles closer as they flutter shut for the second time, resting his head in the crook of Sora’s neck and inhaling the somewhat salty scent—so foreign, but so _familiar_ —still lingering on his tanned skin.

Feeling at home light years away from it is something he’ll never take for granted.


	2. Breathe

It comes over him out of nowhere. The pounding of Ventus’s heart, already amplified by combat, is suddenly far too much for his chest to bear. His body arches downward, Wayward Wind’s grip escaping his wavering hand and clattering unceremoniously against the concrete.

He’s not sure what to call them—these waves of panic and paralysis that bring him to his knees with no defined pattern or cause—but he is sure of the fact that this particular wave couldn’t have struck at a worse possible time. They were just gaining the upper hand in their mission to reclaim this world’s central plaza, completely overrun by Heartless. The density of the congregation had been enough to prompt them to marvel at how deeply the heart that attracted them must have surrendered to its darkest, most disconcerting whims.

When all was said and done, would there be any trace of the body it belonged to?

Vanitas is inevitably the first of his companions to take notice, having been fighting in his general vicinity. For as crude as his grasp on interacting with others in a neutral to positive fashion could be, his golden orbs were still as observant as they were striking, sometimes uncomfortably so.

Ventus can only watch with shell-shocked eyes as Vanitas smites the shadows that had been encroaching upon him in his helpless state and wades through the resulting mist to come to his side. When he outstretches his hand, his otherwise pursed lips open and close in a way that imply he’s speaking to him, but the ringing in the downed boy’s ears and flood welling in his mind work together to ensure that he discerns absolutely none of it.

Brows furrowing, likely at the blonde’s inability to respond, Vanitas flashes away to continue defending their current position. Without something to fixate on directly in front of him, Ventus’s stare meanders to his trembling fists, which he notes are bearing down on the stone beneath them in a way that’s beginning to cause him pain, but he can’t bring himself to ease up.

Even his fingers are out of his control. He’d probably cry out of frustration if he didn’t feel as if he were being smothered.

Just as the last ounce of his perseverance is beginning to dwindle, Vanitas’s heels abruptly invade his cone of vision, triggering his head to lift.

“ _Breathe,_ Ventus,” the darker haired boy tells him between flurries of fire balls. It startles the addressed by resounding as distinctly as the wind chime that dangles beside his curtains back home. “Just breathe.”

Wanting to make this chance moment of clarity count, Ventus endeavors to take rein of his lungs and do exactly as instructed—inhale, exhale, then repeat—and the unfathomable weight that rooted him in place gradually disperses. Come the time Vanitas has done away with enough oncoming attackers to find a spare moment to reach for him again, he’s finally ready to reciprocate.

To have his other half on his side after being at odds for so long, working towards a common goal and supporting one another when they skid to a halt...

It’s like a dream his mind never bothered to conceive for its sheer unlikelihood.

But it’s not a dream. It’s their newfound reality, and as he uses the arm he’s offered as leverage to climb back onto his feet and take his stance anew, he realizes he wouldn’t trade it for anything.


	3. Tired of Waiting

A mission in Agrabah—which is very gradually shaping up to be his _least_ favorite world for more reasons than one—has rendered an initially can-do attitude toting Ventus utterly exhausted and achy. While the cold shower he took the second he set foot back into the castle did wonders in regards to doing away with the sand and excess heat that lingered on his body, what he needs even more desperately is to curl up between cool sheets, rest his stress-ridden limbs and turn off the part of his brain tasked with worrying about whether or not a Heartless lurks just around the corner until morning.

The streak of light produced by the lamps that litter the hallway spills directly onto Vanitas’s unconscious form, illuminating his back in a way that’s extremely pronounced in contrast to everything else in the room, which are exuding dim moonlit glints at best. Ventus only takes belated notice due to having his head lowered and being preoccupied with ensuring that his dirty laundry makes its way into its designated sack.

Belated or not, though, there’s no way he’d react with anything other than raw astonishment stowed in a whisper.

_“Vanitas?”_

If his other half’s presence wasn’t something he’d grown to be so sensitive to, the teen might be inclined to blame his fatigue induced daze for convincing his eyes that he had actually made a nest for himself amongst his covers, but he doesn’t need to rely on his eyes—only his heart. It’s unmistakable.

Nudging the door just shy of actually being shut with his heel, he steps out of his shoes on his way to the bedside, regarding the fetal, Vanitas shaped lump with as much confusion as he can muster and then some.

“Vanitas,” he tries again, just a smidge louder, touching the addressed’s closest shoulder and administering a gentle shake.

No response.

“That’s my bed. I wanna go to sleep.”

This instigates little more than the faintest stir. In that moment, all of Ventus’s bewilderment flies out the window, annoyance germinating in its place. He can’t help but have a vague inkling that he’s being toyed with. After all, there’s no way the raven haired boy—still so flagrantly committed to the vigilance imbued in him from years of physical abuse—could _actually_ have let his guard down, right? Definitely not to the extent that he’d fall asleep in someone else’s room, least of all the blonde’s.

This conclusion he’s content to come to notwithstanding, all of the will for petulance drains out of the keyblade wielder just as quickly as it sparked, shoulders slumping at the zenith of his weighted sigh.

He’s running on the very last of his fumes.

“Well—if you’re not gonna get up, can you at least scoot over?”

Yet again, nothing. Not even the slightest of changes to his breathing pattern.

“Fine. Then I’ll _make_ you scoot,” Ventus decides, tugging off his socks with a near stumble and employing a very meager amount of force to push his friend an inch or two closer to the sill.

As he worms his way in to stake his claim to the space he made for himself, it dawns on him that the bed sheets, having already been warmed by another person’s body, aren’t anywhere near as refreshing as he would have liked them to be. For one reason or another, he just can’t bring himself to feel disappointed over it. It could be because he doesn’t have the energy, or maybe some part of him is grateful for the company. He certainly isn’t of the mind to ruminate on it at surface level, much less deeply. Verdant eyes are struggling to stay open as narrowed slits and his head is fizzing out in a similar fashion.

If he rolls over and winds an arm around Vanitas’s midsection when sleep inevitably claims him, clinging in a manner that one might typically reserve for a teddy bear, it will go unnoticed and unaddressed until he wakes.


	4. Comfort

It’s not that Ventus is afraid of Terra, even though he’s fully cognizant of the fact that the skittish way he’s been behaving around him as of their return to the Land of Departure holds the potential to be construed that way. Rather than being frightened by one of the few people in the blonde’s life who has never made him feel anything but safe and loved—a notion that might prompt him to burst out laughing under normal circumstances—it’s the thought of reaching out to him only to be brushed aside that’s putting knots in his stomach and reservations in his heart.

After all, just prior to succumbing to his deep sleep, his most prominent memories are all of chasing after Terra and the end result being exactly _that_.

He has every intention of continuing to avoid addressing the looks of concern he’s met with every time the older keyblade wielder speaks to him directly and his posture goes rigid—at least until his shoddily constructed dam bursts—but seeing as their bedrooms are so close to one another’s, their confrontation is augmented and inevitable.

Running away is one option. He’s always been exceedingly good at that, but when it comes down to it and Terra stops him just short of his door frame, regarding him with an expression that’s bordering on dejected, all of his will to flee is sapped right out of him.

“Terra… I—” Biting his lip, Ventus resists his innate desire to outstretch a hand to his friend, instead clamping his fingers around his own wrist as he shifts his weight and locks his wavering gaze onto the marble floor beneath their feet. “You might’ve thought that you were protecting me, but every time I caught up to you and you’d tell me to go home—it just felt like you were leaving me behind. Even at the very end of it all, when I thought there was no hope left for me… deep down, I still wanted us to fight. _Together_. But instead, you just—” His grip abruptly screws up at the memory, nails digging into the material of his bracelet. “You pushed me back and charged ahead on your own!”

Though the blonde lifts his head to make his declaration, it’s difficult for him to discern what kind of reaction Terra is having on account of his rapidly blurring vision.

“I don’t want to be pushed away or abandoned anymore! I know I’m just a kid and I’ve never been able to do as much for you or Aqua as the both of you have done for me, but… _but_ —”

Interrupted by the strong arms that lock around him, Ventus starts, breath hitching. The tears that had been welling up in his eyes spill over all at once as he’s squeezed tight and assured with an apology and a promise alike.

In time, he allows himself to reciprocate, clinging to the man he’s come to think of as his older brother just as tightly, if not more so.


	5. Sleep Tight

The way that Aqua’s digits come to rest on Ventus’s shoulders at the foot of the front staircase catches him a little off guard, effectively stopping him in his tracks. He’s a fraction of a second from opening his mouth to inquire about whether or not everything is all right, but her chuckle sets him at ease.

Evidently, all she had in mind was bidding him goodnight in the manner of parting his bangs and pressing her lips against his forehead.

“ _Aqua_ ,” he halfheartedly protests, a sheepish grin making a home for itself on his dimly lit features. “I’m too _old_ for bedtime kisses.”


	6. Eye of the Beholder

Sora is beautiful in a way that Ventus could only attempt to describe with something akin to monologue ripped straight out of the romance novels that Master Eraqus once horded. He can remember rolling his eyes at the sheer volume of paragraphs devoted solely to the perspective character gushing over their romantic interest’s features when he was just a couple of years younger, but now that he’s woken from his nap prematurely and has nothing other than the sight of the other boy to monopolize his attention—eyelashes catching the sunlight flitting in from his open window and chest rising and falling to the same rhythm as his own—he feels like he could probably appreciate them a bit more.

It’d be a horrible shame to disturb the tail end of his rest. Luckily for that sentiment, as strong as the blonde’s desire to brush their lips together is, his desire to drink in all that this quiet and intimate moment has to offer wins out.

Of course, it’s already been a couple of hours since they initially entangled their limbs and drifted off, so it isn’t much longer until Sora stirs anyway. A powerful yawn and abrupt straightening of his arms signals the fact that he’s not intent on rolling over and tucking in for an extra five minutes.

Ventus stops him short before he can bolt upright, though, cupping his warm, speckled cheeks in his hands and sealing their mouths in one lazy, but surefire motion. When he withdraws, it’s barely an inch. A somewhat dreamy look endures as his fingers trail away from the other’s face to thread through chestnut tufts instead.

His request, laced with every ounce of his infatuation, is relayed as a murmur.

“I know we have plans and everything, but… do you think we could stay like this? Just a little bit longer?”


	7. Flower Friends

Clear days like these make Ventus want for nothing more than to curl up beneath a tree for a snooze, but the hills that he and Kairi are in the midst of roaming haven’t contained any. They’re all grass and colorful blossoms that waver delicately in the warm breeze.

While he supposes that flower beds must have earned their name for a reason and could make for a nice substitute in this sort of pinch, he’s having too pleasant of a time exploring at the leisurely pace they’ve set—chatting comfortably and weaving faux bouquets together along the way—to consider it seriously.

The overlapping of his and a long distance friend’s off hours is a precious opportunity. He’s not about to let it go to waste by sleeping through it.

Exiting the light daze that a natural lull in their conversation brought on, he can’t help but be startled by Kairi’s sudden closeness. His initially frantic line of sight traces the thick stem cradled between the girl’s fingers, soon panning from the disc set in the center of a flare of yellow petals to the smile she wears. It’s unabashedly warm and crafty, not to mention infectious.

A giddy sort of giggle escapes Ventus as he accepts the happy surprise into his custody, not hesitating to shift all of the other flowers he’d been holding prior to accommodate for it.

“How’d you _know?”_

Inspired stars twinkle to life in the emeralds of his optics as he regards the other keyblade wielder, a surefire sign he’s not going to give her an opportunity to respond. In a matter of a single second, he’s breaking into a sprint down the expanse just behind her, intent on gathering up at least a few more sunflowers before twilight urges them to retrace their steps.


	8. If I Fall Asleep

Being left behind is something that Ventus has grown painstakingly accustomed to. Initially, it was a matter of Master Eraqus forbidding him from leaving the castle grounds and cutting him off from the cosmos he craved enough to extend a hollow hand towards nightly. Nowadays, the most he has to cope with is the fact that Terra and Aqua go on dates.

Needless to say, his circumstances are much kinder than they used to be. In fact, he’s blessed with so many new friends and opportunities to stretch his legs that the liberation can actually get to be a little overwhelming at times. It’s just that when the old friends he grew to be so emotionally dependent upon take their inevitable leave, a pool of loneliness finds a way to well up in his chest in spite of it all.

That is, unless Vanitas dithers to keep him company.

For one reason or another, regardless of whether they’re waist deep in a convoluted argument neither can recall the original basis of or sitting in strangely pleasant silence, having his other half at his side scratches an itch Ventus never knew he had. Considering what they are to one another, the only thing he can think to attribute it to is intramural harmony, but it would be a little embarrassing to address that directly.

Content to address it _indirectly_ by way of relishing in the comfort it brings, the teen makes a move to slide to the opposite end of the bench they settled atop only minutes ago, doing away with the distance that lingers between them and tucking his head against the other’s shoulder.

“Hey Vanitas,” he begins, pausing to thread their arms together and nestle just a hair closer. Viridescent eyes flicker in the direction of the waning sun before slipping closed. “If I fall asleep, you gotta nudge me awake when they get back, ‘kay?”


	9. Almost

“Hey, Sora—hold still for a sec.”

Though his intention isn’t something he plans on keeping a secret, Ventus still pulls the baby blue morning glory from behind his back with a vaguely suspenseful flourish. Puffing a bit of laughter at his own dramaticism—and the adorable look on Sora’s face, initially somewhat wary, but now downright curious—he motions ever so slightly closer, raising his hand to tuck the arch of the stem behind his ear.

“Thought it’d suit you. Y’know, since it’s _almost_ as pretty as your eyes.” The pad of the blonde’s thumb lingers beside a petal, then the other boy’s cheek. “I was right.”


	10. Power of Waking

Ventus has long since stopped thinking kindly of being so rudely awoken from his midday naps. Training for Mark of Mastery and protecting the worlds were no small tasks. His hectic schedule warrants extra time spent snoozing and then some and the fact that he’s strewn across a couch in the recesses of the Mysterious Tower shouldn’t compromise his much needed rest. After all, sleeping in a public space is _not_ an open invitation to be poked and prodded at.

With this exact sentiment at the forefront of his mind, he groans, furrows his brows and cracks open his still weary eyes to address the one administering the poking and prodding.

It comes as no surprise that the guilty party is Sora. His anxieties were no secret to him. As a matter of fact, this wouldn’t be the first time he’s found himself in a situation in which he was awoken prematurely on account of someone else’s fear for his heart meandering off again.

Admittedly, Aqua has a great deal more tact than Sora does. She never resorts to pinching him.

Still, Ventus can’t say he blames either of them. Their bouts of concern are very much grounded in what was once a reality and are only testaments to how much they care for him. It’s why he vents his frustration by way of a sigh puffed through his nostrils and nothing more.

“Make it up to me,” he murmurs, hands reaching for the other boy’s shoulders and exacting gentle tugs as his eyelids flicker closed again.


	11. What's Yours Is Mine

Vanitas has swiped snacks straight out of Ventus’s hands time and time again, seemingly just for the sake of causing exasperation, so it’s high time justice is served.

Finally detecting an opportunity, the blonde plunges to snatch the rice cracker his other half made the mistake of averting his attention from, deriving ample satisfaction at just how effortlessly the disc is extracted from his fingertips.

“What’s yours is mine,” he quips cutely, grin prevailing even as he takes a generous bite.


	12. In Flight

Now that the Unversed have been taken care of, Ventus should be on his way. He _really_ should—but when Zack implores that he stay for the remainder of the afternoon so he isn’t singled out once Hercules and Phil have taken their leave, he can’t bring himself to say no.

For the better portion of an hour, they cross weapons and exchange all sorts of silly and witty remarks. It reminds him of his sparring sessions with Terra and Aqua, although the vast difference in power is completely removed from the equation. Rather than struggling to keep pace with a more experienced keyblade wielder, he finds himself on equal footing with Zack.

It’s refreshing. If fate had it, he’d love to train like this on the regular.

One thing leads to another and what was originally intended to be a short lived break in one of the shadier corners of the coliseum’s rim morphs into a full on lounging and story telling session. Unlike himself, Zack has been to a plethora of places in his pursuit of heroism. The more detail Ventus prompts the other boy to paint for him, the more his imagination goes into overdrive to insert himself into the environments of the tales that are being recounted—into the tales themselves.

When it is that he transitions from slumping against the darker haired teen’s side to resting his head in his lap is beyond him, but no motion is made on either of their ends to pull apart. If anything, they only shift to find more comfort in the position.

“Hey Zack,” the blonde mumbles, eyelids drooping. “When I come back—”

It will be years before Ventus attains his mark and Master Eraqus makes good on his promise to grant him more freedom. After all that time, will Zack remember someone as slight and insignificant as him?

“—you’ll bring me along for an adventure, right?”

If he’s still awake to hear his response, his memory doesn’t salvage it.


	13. Homemade

To feel Aqua’s fingers threading through his hair is par for the course, especially on lazy days like these. As such, Ventus assumes it’s merely a gesture of temporary parting until he’s presented with the very familiar bag she held in her opposite hand, failing to stifle the soft sound of surprise that falls from his parting lips.

It’s not that he thought she’d forgotten about the holiday—or _him_ , for that matter—but he wasn’t sure she’d be up to the task of making anything from scratch, either. After everything that happened just a couple of months prior, they’ve all been out of sorts in more ways than one, so if corners cut resulted in more sanity retained, then it was an exchange worth making.

Even still, Aqua put in the time and the effort just like she always used to. It’s enough to make the blonde’s heart swell and ache all at once.

Taking as much care as possible not to crumple his Valentine’s gift, Ventus twists his body and throws both arms around his friend in a tight, unrelenting hug that he can only hope expresses just how much this means to him—how much _she_ means.

“Love you, Aqua,” he murmurs, smiling and tearing up in conjunction as he nuzzles against her shoulder. “I can’t wait to have these. It’s been ages.”


	14. Broken, but Still Good

Hearing Vanitas’s call, Ventus snaps out of his daze just enough to kick his trademark reflexes into gear and catch the bag he’s thrown with a clap of the hands. As he peers down into his parting palms and comes to understand exactly what lies within, he thanks all the goodness in the worlds that he had that sharp cue to rebound off of. There’s no way the cookies would have survived a collision course with the floor.

Wait. _Cookies?_

Coming back to the remainder of his senses and abruptly putting two and two together, he hastily points his stare at his other half’s back, down to his Valentine’s gift and up again.

“Wha— _Vanitas!_ You’re supposed to let me say _thanks_ before you up and leave!”

Despite that request, completely free of sass and well articulated as it is, the addressed doesn’t turn. In fact, if he’s not mistaken, his gait might be even faster than it was before.

Could Vanitas be… _embarrassed?_ All because he went a little out of his way to get him a present for the holiday? The thought is beyond endearing, but even more importantly than that, if his suspicions are correct, then Ventus has to do his part as a true samaritan to amplify that embarrassment as much as possible.

Cupping his free hand around his grinning mouth, the blonde raises his voice to ensure that he’s heard, all of the distance that’s been put between them notwithstanding.

“Thank you! I can’t wait to try ‘em!”


End file.
